Catnip
by Amanita Jackson
Summary: Kitty is hitting on someone she knows she probably shouldn't be. Onesided JeanKitty, mentions of others.


A/N: Heh...(scuffs foot) This little plot bastard was banging on my window and threatening insomnia if I didn't post it. I'm working on a John/Bobby fic too, but it's rather long...

Does anyone wish to A) be my beta B) inform me whether or not I need one and/or C) explain what in the name of hell is a beta, anyway?

**Warnings:** Slash. Girl crushing on much older woman. Big whoop, group gasp, get over it. Woo. It happens, kay? Also mentions drug use. That also happens. Wow. Hmm. Gasp. Ok, let us proceed.

* * *

It's wrong, Kitty tells herself. It's wrong, wrong, wrong. More wrong than the Professor and Charles. Kitty winces as memories fly unbidden in the dark behind her eyes. That was pretty gross. She quickly replaces those memories with spun-sugar fantasies, prettier pictures. Pictures Kitty spins of _her_.

Kitty knows she should stop. She really does. She intends to. But she's like a junkie, only worse or maybe better, because her fix can't be bought because it's _her_.

Kitty did try some drug once, she forgets the name. She was in John and Bobby's room and they were having some too. It smelled a bit like the stuff from the dentist's office and Kitty tried some. She tried a lot. It was pretty good and she felt all floaty and happy.

John started singing at one point, Kitty recalls. She tried to join in, but she couldn't. John said later it must have been just one of those things. Some people can't whistle, some people can't snap their fingers, and Kitty can't sing when she's high, he said.

There weren't any addicts to _any_thing at Xavier's. Kitty was never entirely sure why, because the Professor never seemed to intervene. But John still got his stuff and Bobby still got his John. John probably got his Bobby more than his drugs, but he didn't seem to mind. Everything was all right.

But this is wrong, wrong, wrong, Kitty repeats to herself sternly. Every night since the day she first saw _her_ in such a way. Every day in _her_ class since she realised she wasn't paying very much attention to the drawings on the board, or the words washing over her. Every night since she started using her fingers in tandem with the pictures in her head.

No, no, no, this is wrong, wrong, wrong. Kitty squeezes her eyes shut as her hand slides back and forth, back and forth. She breathes and bucks to the steady mantra of wrong,

wrong,

wrong.

There are others, of course. Kitty knows that when she feels like that towards Bobby or John or even Jubilee it's okay, it's fine, it's right, good, right. And she _does_ feel like that towards Bobby and John and even Jubilee.

So why for so many people?

And if Kitty feels like that for so many people, why, she wonders, does she have to feel like that for _her_? Because Bobby and John have each other but that's not the same as _her _and Scott.

With so much right, right, right, Kitty wonders, why is she still drawn to wrong, wrong, wrong?

Kitty leans back, sated for the moment, the echoes of her own harsh-soft breath and the sweet song that is _wrong wrong wrong_ ricochet in her mind.

Kitty shakes her head to make the song go away, and it does because it's time for a fix.

She screams and messes up the sheets. Like clockwork, Professor Grey enters her room exactly three minutes later, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Kitty?" she asks softly, coming over to the bed. "Are you awake now, sweetie? Are you okay?" She croons soothing nonsense as she sits on the edge of the bed.

Kitty simply gazes at her, drinking in the sight of _her_.

"I…I think I am now," she manages.

"Need help with those nightmares?" Jean asks delicately. She runs a hand across Kitty's sweaty forehead, brushing the hair off to the side.

"N-no, I'll be fine…" Kitty lets her voice trail off.

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Kitty snuggles under the covers and savours the feel, the scent, the _presence_ of Jean Grey in silence. She closes her eyes and Jean's soothing fingers drift across her face, back and forth, back and forth.

Jean sits there for a minute until, satisfied that Kitty is as calmed as she'll get, she bends forward and brushes a small, reassuring kiss against Kitty's temple.

"It'll be alright. Go back to sleep now, 'kay sweetie?" she murmurs and sends a last maternal glance down at the teen sprawled under the covers.

"Mmm." Kitty mumbles, already half-asleep.

Jean leaves and Kitty drifts peacefully into sleep with the floaty happy being near Jean Grey gives her.

Kitty likes it when she's near _her_ like that because during times like that the little song of _wrong wrong wrong_ is quiet and still.

It must be one of those things, she decides in that curious clear space between sleeping and waking.

Kitty just can't sing when she's high.


End file.
